Sunset over Berk
by TheBoomerangGuy
Summary: With the afternoon sun sinking slowly towards the horizon, Hiccup and Astrid retreat to a favourite clifftop overlooking the village and enjoy each other's company. By making fun of each other and falling over a lot. Worthless Hiccstrid fluff, constructive feedback appreciated (but please be gentle).


Hey look I started an orchestral AU. I apologise in advance for an irregular update schedule, but I'mma try guys, promise

 **EDIT: added line breaks to make it less of an eyesore, thanks to the guys who pointed this out to me  
**

* * *

 _"...CUP? HICCUP?"_

"unnnggghh" The voice was too loud. Worse, it was his father's.

 _"_ _Hiccup! He's awake! Thank the gods he's -_ _"_

"Sir, please try to keep your voice down, there are other patients -"

" _CAN YE HEAR ME SON?! IT'S OK, AHM RIGHT HERE!"_ He was just trying to _sleep,_ who were all these _people?!_

"Ah think he's try'na say somethin', Stoick."

"aaaaaaaddd"

The giant's voice softened somewhat. "Son? Whot is et, son? It's ok, am right here, ahm list'nin'."

"ssshuuu upp."

There was a pause. Then -

"Whot did he say? Ah couldn't hear em right, thought 'e said -"

"'e told ye t' be quiet, Stoick. Let's just let em come to in his own time."

"Oh." Stoick sounded a little conflicted at that; but still, he fell silent.

 _What?_ Hiccup's thoughts were all woozy. _'Come to?' What are they talking about?_ A faint beeping reached his ears, steady and regular. Hiccup had seen enough hospital-basedTV shows to recognise that sound; the beeping jumped a little as realisation dawned. _I'm in a hospital?! Why am -_

And then it all came rushing back. He had stormed out, thrown himself into the driver's seat and barrelled out of the driveway with the intention of blowing off some steam in Snotlout's gaming basement. Then, right as he'd approached the junction -

 _That truck just came out of nowhere! Gods, my car must be - shit, wait, I'm in_ hospital, _am_ I _ok?!_

His heart monitor was beeping rapidly now. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Slowly, Hiccup forced his eyes open. He could feel things getting clearer as whatever they'd had him on wore off; a white ceiling swam gradually into focus. _Eyes ok, then. That's good._

The concert pianist in him kicked in, and he immediately tried to wiggle his fingers, sighing with relief when he felt them move. _Ok, the most important things accounted for._ He wiggled his toes, right foot, left -

 _...foot?_

The monitor bipped loudly.

"...foot?" he mumbled, out loud this time. He tried to sit up, but a tall nurse materialised and placed a hand gently on his chest.

"Easy, Mr Haddock," she murmured. "Let's take things slowly, yes? You've been through quite a lot these last few days."

 _Days?!_ "Why c-cann't I ffeell mmy fffoot?" Words were thick in his mouth: he swallowed hard, and tried to sit up again. "What's wrong with my foot?"

"Hiccup," Stoick spoke, then. Hiccup turned his head, and found his father sat a few feet away, his broad frame completely dwarfing the tiny chair in which he sat. Stoick's eyes were fixed on his son's, and they were - _wet? Is my father crying?_

Beside him sat Gobber, Stoick's right-hand man. He was staring at the floor, uncharacteristically silent.

"Son." Hiccup looked back at his father. Stoick forced a smile. "Tha most important thing is that yer ok. At tha end of tha day, nothin' else -"

This, of course, was only feeding the dread growing in Hiccup's gut. With superhuman effort, he forced himself up, and wrenched the bedclothes aside, looking for the broken, mangled, ruined remains of his -

\- nothing. There was nothing there. And somehow, that was worse. What had once been his leg now ended a little below the knee in a stump, swathed in bandages.

The room was silent, aside from the now fairly frantic _blipblipblipblip blip blip blip, blip, blip... blip... blip... blip..._ Gently, the nurse placed a hand on Hiccup's shoulder. She replaced the blankets, covering the stump.

But he could still _feel_ it. Or rather, its absence. The blanket settled emptily next to his right leg. He felt suddenly nauseous. Dazed, he allowed the nurse to settle him backwards onto the pillows.

"Hiccup?" Stoick's voice was softer than he'd ever known. "Son?"

"Wh-" Hiccup had to pause to swallow, lest he throw up. "What happened to my car?"

There was a pause. Then a heavy sigh. "Totalled. Tha truck that hit ye was doin near fifty. Driver fared much better than ye did, admits t' tryin t' skip a light. Didn't see ye in time. Hit yer driver-side door dead on; they had t' cut ye free. Ye were stuck in there, unconscious, fer nearly half an hour." He paused again. "Are ye feelin' alright, Hiccup?"

Hiccup had barely heard a word, but at this a choked laugh burst from his dry, parched throat. "Oh yeah, dad, just fine. Can I get some water? I'd get it myself but - well. Yeah." Without a word, the nurse handed him a filled plastic cup. He sipped it slowly as his father continued to try and talk about anything besides his son's missing leg.

"Tha movin' company are takin' full responsibility for tha accident. Ye were lucky - well, not lucky," Stoick amended hastily. "But from an aftermath point o' view, they're payin' for all yer fees an' th' insurance for yer car -"

" _And,"_ Gobber chimed in abruptly. "They're givin' ye a new piano!"

At this, Hiccup looked up. "What?!"

"Gobber." Stoick glared at his friend. "I thought we'd discussed this."

"Yes, we did."

"I _thought,"_ Stoick growled. "We agreed not t' mention -"

"Yes, we did. But I think he'll appreciate tha funny side."

"Funny side?" Hiccup was incredulous. "What the heck could possibly be -"

"Ye see, that piano," Gobber went on, heedless and with a wide grin. "Ets special fer a couple o' reasons. Firstly, et's a one-of-a kind, black Nigel Furay make."

 _That_ got Hiccup's attention. "A Furay? For real?"

Gobber nodded. "Aye. I've only seen a couple in ma' life, an' now yer've got one o' yer own."

"And they're just going to _give_ me one? For hitting me with a truck?"

"Not exactly." Stoick sounded resigned, but relieved that his son was showing signs of life. "Et's en somethin' of a state of... disrepair."

"Et's a little smashed up, true," Gobber conceded. "But not beyond savin'."

Hiccup frowned. "Smashed up? What does that mean?"

"Ah, ma favourite bit!" Gobber grinned again. "See, they were transporten' this instrument between concert halls a few day ago. An' tha driver was runnin' a little late. So when 'e gets t' a red light, does 'e slow down? No, 'e puts his foot down!"

Realisation dawned. Hiccup stared. "Are you telling me -"

"Tha's right!" Gobber chortled. "Of all th' trucks ye managed t' get hit by, ye managed t' get hit by th' one with th' rarest make o' piano in existence in et! Talk about silver lining, eh?"

Astrid carefully laid her violin and bow down on the empty chair beside her. A moment longer and she would have hurled it at trombones in rage. She took a deep, careful breath, and sat back in her seat as Gobber turned to the Brass section to rehearse the line for the thousandth time.

 _Rehearsals aren't for PRACTICE, they are for REHEARSING,_ she wanted to scream at them. She knew whose fault it was, of course. First trombone, a broad-shouldered lout named Scott, had lungs to match an elephant's, but the sight-reading skills of a toddler. _It wouldn't_ matter, _of course, if he'd learned his part_ before _coming to rehearse._

"This is so dumb," he was complaining now, squinting at his sheet music. The other two boys in his section, who clearly knew the line well enough, shifted uncomfortably. "I mean," he went on, "who gives the trombone section _demisemiquavers?"_

"They're only _semi_ quavers, Snotlout," replied Gobber, shifting through the score in front of him. "And _I_ did. If ye don't like my arrangement ye can give yer seat t' one of tha others. _They_ don't seem t' be strugglin'."

Snotlout grumbled something in response, but sat back again. Astrid smile a little. She liked Gobber. Conductors who knew exactly what they wanted from their orchestra were a godsend, and Gobber had a way of addressing them that was both firm and laid back. True, it was only her fifth rehearsal with this orchestra, but so far she had never heard him raise his voice. Not even at the twins.

"Alright." Gobber flipped back a page or two. "Take five. I'll call ye all back and we'll go over _Romantic Flight._ Put our new orchestra leader t' the test." He winked at her, unscrewing the conductor's baton the end of his arm. She shook her head. _Romantic Flight_ was a wonderful piece, opening with a lovely violin solo - but it wasn't hard. Stretching, Astrid rose, and looked around the room.

The Haddock Youth Orchestra was about as prestigious as you get in this part of the world, for her age bracket. And every year, it was primarily from this ensemble and the Berkian Symphony Orchestra that Stoick Haddock selected musicians to move up to the world-renowned Haddock Philharmonic Orchestra. Astrid had worked herself to the bone to get into this group. She had moved away from home and taken a day job in a local coffee shop just to be here: the Haddock Philharmonic was her _dream._

The Youth Orchestra was her way in: by the time auditions for the Philharmonic rolled around, she would be old enough. Now she just had to prove she was _good_ enough. So, when Gobber had called her to tell her she hadn't only landed first desk, but also _orchestra leader,_ Astrid had all but passed out from joy. She had danced around her room; she had hugged her violin. She'd called her mother and they had screamed joy down the phone to one another for nearly half an hour.

And yet, looking around, she didn't really get the impression that anyone else particularly _cared_ about being here. There were around 50 kids in the Youth Orchestra, all of them extremely talented in their own way. Even Snotlout, obnoxious as he was, could really make his trombone _sing_ when he tried - she knew this because he had flirted with her relentlessly from almost the moment she had entered the room on her first day. Having failed to sweet-talk her into his arms, he appeared to have decided that serenading her was the best course of action. _If only he put as much effort into learning his parts as he does trying to seduce me,_ she mused.

Gobber was still engaged in conversation with Jarlha, the lead horn player, so Astrid went to the side of the room to the water cooler for a drink. There, she found the twins.

"But what if we had, like, _twelve?"_ Tuff was saying. He held a pair of sticks in one hand, and was examining the cooler excitedly. "Like, we could pitch them by filling them to different levels and -"

"You're such an _idiot,"_ Ruff groaned. She rapped on the side of the cooler, producing a low _thonk_ sound. "You think _that's_ gonna carry through a concert hall? With an orchestra playing?"

Tuff was silent for a moment. Then, "But if we hit them _really hard -"_

"Don't you guys have enough on your plate already?" Astrid pointed out, filling a cup. The twins were the only two percussionists in the whole ensemble, which was absurd, considering the number of instruments they had to deal with. Astrid had seen some of the bizarre rigs they had constructed to help them reach everything in time, and had quickly realised why no other percussionists would join the group.

"Wow get a load of miss anti-fun over here." Ruff's sarcasm was legendary in the ensemble. She would roll whole sentences around her mouth when she spoke; it was really quite impressive.

Her brother didn't seem to have even noticed Astrid's arrival. "But think about it Ruff," he was saying. "We could play them _and drink from them._ It would be so cool."

"You're _so dumb._ Drinking from them would de-tune them, you moron."

"Well, then we just have to pour twelve cups at once to keep them in tune -"

"And what about everyone else?"

"They can have some too, but -" Astrid left, shaking her head. Gobber was back at the conductor's stand, and people were taking their seats. Fishlegs, she saw, hadn't moved from his seat, and was rubbing at his piccolo _again,_ mumbling under his breath. _That boy,_ she thought, _cares a little_ too _much._ Astrid loved her violin, but Fishlegs obsessed over his instruments like nobody she had ever met before. There didn't seem to be a single instrument in the woodwind family he _couldn't_ play, but most often he sat as second flute or solo piccolo. She had liked him instantly - there was something so pure, something genuine in his voice - but she had found that spending more than a few minutes alone in his company only led to lengthy conversations about his treasures, his _beauties._

As she reached her seat, something caught her eye. There was a _piano._ A baby grand, stood by itself, covered by a large sheet _._ Where had that come from? She frowned. It definitely hadn't been there in previous rehearsals. Where they expecting a pianist this week?

"Right!" Gobber called, as she sat down. _"Romantic Flight!_ Watch yer dynamics - am lookin' at _you,_ Snotlout - an' do _not_ get ahead o' me. This is nice, steady one, an' I'm expectin' ye all t' get et in two attempts tops. One, if the Brass remember the key change first try." There was a low chuckled from the back row. "Alright!" Gobber finised screwing the baton back into place, and raised his arms. The orchestra raised their instruments. And then two things happened.

The first was the doors at the far end of the room opening to admit one of the most attractive young men Astrid had ever laid eyes on. Tall, in a slightly rumpled shirt and jeans, with a strong jawline, a mess of auburn hair and _shockingly_ green eyes. So green, she could see them from the other side of the hall.

The second thing was complete silence as she missed her cue to begin playing.

 _Fuck._

Gobber looked at her strangely. "Y' alright, Astrid? Still with us?"

"Yeah, sorry, sorry," she flustered, shaking herself. There were little titters from around the group, and she forced herself to laugh with them, swallowing her pride a little.

"Okay! Take two!" Gobber raised his arms again, but then the doors _clunked_ shut again, and he glanced back. "Ahhh! Well would ye look at that. The prodigal son returns!"

"Hey Gobber," the boy chuckled. He carried a folder of music under one arm, and was walking - no, _limping_ over to the covered piano. The limp was only a slight one, but Astrid noticed. Whoever he was, he was clearly no stranger to the orchestra: at the sight of him, people called out in greeting. "Hiccup!" some of them shouted; Snoutlout let out an exaggerated _groan_ that nobody seemed to hear. The twins outright cheered from the back. _Popular, is he?_ Astrid mused, watching him as he reached his instrument.

With Gobber's help, the newcomer manoeuvred the baby grand into position at the front of the orchestra, behind the conductor's podium. He tugged the sheet, and swept it from the instrument in one fluid motion.  
Astrid let out a small gasp. She was not the only one. The sleek, black finish was nothing special in itself - but the surface of the instrument was _littered_ with small, intricate etchings. They didn't cover the whole thing, but around the edges, in every corner; tiny line drawings, some just symmetrical patterns, others beautifully realised pictures of creatures. Dragons. Astrid had never seen an instrument like it in her life. And there, on the front, picked out in gold lettering:

 _N. FURAY  
_

Hiccup looked around with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I, uh, kind of upgraded a bit while I was away."

Astrid stared at him. _Who the hell_ IS _this boy?_


End file.
